It’s just another day. Right? Why expect some grand gesture? No red carpets needed. I’m just a mother.

Don’t worry about me. My tears are fruitless. My cries are unheard. Just go on with your own life. I’m just a mother.

I got you through colic, chickenpox, and algebra. I cried at your dances, and cheered at your concerts. But don’t worry about me. I’m just a mother.

My heart sank when you were found with child, my soul ached when you moved away, I mourned when I didn’t see you. But it’s ok. I’m just a mother.

You turn 25 today! I’m so excited and bought cake and ice cream. I dusted off videos of you being born, your 2nd birthday, and your babies being born. I just knew you would come. But who am I? I’m just a mother.

I’m going to bed now. My heart is full of sorrow. I didn’t see you, and you live 6 miles away. You didn’t call, and you have my number. I didn’t tell your kids it was your birthday so they wouldn’t cry when you didn’t come. Why?

She walked into the living room, hands pulling at strands of self, after an hour of screaming from the 3 year old tot. “One more thing,” she mused with tears threatening, “And insanity will be my partner!”

The laundry is piled, the dishes tittering from the counters, the dogs yelping, and her mind was waving farewell.

Timing. Timing is everything.

Her husband glares from the kitchen. “You forgot to put the lid on the peanut butter!” he growled.

Whirlwinds of chaos tugged at from every cell. Tears no longer threaten. They gush at the lack of compassion from the one who shares her soul.